Life in the Palace
by Cross the Sky
Summary: A series of connected ficlets following Jansen and Ming as they adjust to being married - both in general and to each other. Full spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Lost Odyssey belongs to Mistwalker, not me. I'm not making any money off of this.

Author's Notes: This is a series of short fics/vingettes chronicling little slices of Ming and Jansen's early life together. Everything from funny to romantic to steamy to melancholy, and whatever falls between. I have no idea how many there will be, but I can at least promise there will be more than one or two!

Setting the Night On Fire

The moon was well overhead by the time Ming Numara collapsed into the inviting softness of her bed. Even such a seemingly simple task as slipping out of her train and gown had proven time consuming and difficult for her. Her fingers kept shaking and slipping, she couldn't remember quite how to unravel the elaborate panels of her skirt, her train snagged on her ring…. At least the last incident was understandable, as she rarely wore rings.

_You've absolutely no reason to be as skittish as a…a…._ Ming rolled over onto her back and sighed, unable to come up with anything other than 'virgin bride'. Which was, despite her mental scolding, exactly what she was. But that hardly meant there was any cause to twitter and fret. She wasn't some innocent little fluff headed girl who had no idea what went on between man and maid. And it wasn't as though one truly needed a partner to experience or enjoy physical pleasure. But this was still something strange and new, despite hundreds of books and centuries of listening to handmaidens gossip and share intimate stories. Jansen had been a perfect gentleman their entire courtship, going no further than kisses and perfectly chaste caresses. Which she was both thankful for and frustrated by. It had been unspoken, that they would wait the few extra months until they were officially wed. But a few months seemed like forever after nearly two years of long looks and guarded touches.

It had been maddening. And distracting! How many long minutes had she lost, captivated by the line of Jansen's jaw or the fall of his hair across his temple? How many restless nights had she lain awake under the covers, staring at the ceiling and trying to drive from her mind the memory of his hands, how he slid them so firmly and gently along his stave…

The last month had been the worst. They had found themselves alone together whenever Ming wasn't busy with politics or wedding preparations. And Jansen had taken to Numaran fashion, which suited him beautifully. And showed off his arms. He had such appealing arms….

Well, at least she could be assured that her nervousness was nervous _excitement_.

_What is taking him so long?_

She couldn't hear anything from the bathing chamber, where Jansen had excused himself once they'd finally gotten away from the revelry. The celebration of their union was continuing in the streets of the city, and most likely would continue well into the next day. At least the palace was quiet.

Ming intended to sleep well into the next day. She was without a doubt happier than she could remember being, but she was tired. It had been a long few months and a very long day.

And Jansen's insistence on taking ridiculously long baths - and keeping her waiting! - wasn't helping. She tugged at the hem of her shimmering white shift, smoothing it over her thighs. She reclined against her pillows, her hair loose and falling in soft waves down her shoulders. Her shift was sinfully comfortable - a little white slip of a thing that shimmered and clung to her breasts and wide-set hips. The only jewelry she wore was her wedding ring.

_If he isn't out here soon, I'm going to go in and get him!_ And she could. He was her husband now. She could walk in on him in the bath if she so chose. For gods' sake, she could ride him like an unbroken stallion until he couldn't walk if she was taken by the whim! And if she was forced to wait much longer….

She fell asleep without realizing it. Her eyes slipped closed and her hand fell limply to the covers and the world melted away.

When it returned, it was in the form of hands on her body, snapping her out of some dark dream from the long past. She reacted without thinking, fire blossoming in her hand before she had even opened her eyes. No one had any right to lay hands upon her! Least of all in her _bed_! With a grace and agility honed over a millennium, Ming twisted as she came fully awake.

"Whoah! What…what?"

And immediately dropped her mage-lit hand, drawing back in horror. Jansen sat on the bed, wide eyed and confused, gaping at her. Ming's breath caught in her throat and she could only gape back, horrified at how closely she had come to attacking her own husband!

"I…" She wet her lips, trying desperately to summon the words to explain. She felt like such a fool!

"I scared you, didn't I?" Jansen offered, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry. Didn't realize you were _out_ out."

"I didn't mean to fall asleep." She leaned forward, forehead pressing against Jansen's. "I am so very sorry."

"Hey, no harm done. And like I don't overreact now and again. Don't worry about it. I mean…let's not make a habit out of it or anything…." He chuckled, and then he kissed her, and Ming leaned into it, eager to forget the small bit of unpleasantness and go to bed with her husband….

"Mmm," she mumbled after a moment, attempting to wrench her head away. Jansen's hands were on her, holding her, and he either didn't notice her distracted attempts to disengage or didn't want to. "Jansen!" she managed, tipping her head back as he began to kiss down her neck. "I think something might be on fire."

That did it. Jansen straightened up and peered over her shoulder, then winced. Ming turned herself. though she could already smell the light smoke. A spark from her initial flare - or the flare itself, when she dropped her hand in sudden surprise - had lit the bedding.

"Oh, shit!" Jansen acted quickly, dousing the bed - and both of them in his haste - with a frantically thrown aqua.

The bedding sizzled and smoked, and Ming and Jansen simply looked at one another, dripping wet as the smell of char rose around them. Ming could feel her hair straggling down her neck, and was very aware that her white shift was now molded to her. And freezing. Jansen didn't look much better, with that one loose bit of hair now matted over his eye and the collar of his nightshirt flopping pathetically down his chest.

Ming couldn't help it. She began to laugh. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth, but she control it. Here they were, on their wedding night, and the bed was a sodden, smoldering ruin and they looked like a pair of drowned cats. At first Jansen looked away guiltily, cheeks reddening and hand going to the back of his neck to worry it. But then his shoulders began to shake and he was laughing as well, and they laughed until tears were prickling the corners of their eyes.

"Well…" Jansen finally said, after raking his wet hair out of his eyes. "I know things are supposed to get pretty hot in here tonight, but I think _actually_ setting the bed on fire might be going overboard a little bit…"

"What are we going to do now?" Ming wiped at her eyes and attempted to smooth her hair back behind her ears. "We certainly can't use the bed, and I'm rather loathe to call for someone to clean it _right now_…."

"Somebody's gonna have to clean it up eventually anyway," Jansen pointed out. "Oh, that'll be fun to explain. But…yeah, I'll be honest, I don't want to deal with handmaidens or servants or whatever right now. And they probably don't wanna deal with me, cause…I've been sitting here staring at you in that little see through thing and I'm not standing up if your little maids come in."

Ming blushed this time, and instinctively raised her arms to cover herself. At Jansen's sad little noise of protest, she only blushed deeper.

"Here." Jansen _did_ stand up, and now it was Ming's turn to take advantage of the view. But only for a moment, as he scooped her up into his arms without a word of warning. "Who needs a bed? There's plenty of room on the floor, there's that couch thing over there….and you know, the sooner we get out of these wet clothes the better….eh, think the floor'd work better than the couch. And hey, this carpet's almost as thick as a mattress…" He set her down a good distance from the bed, before the empty fire-place. He eyed it a moment, then met her gaze and they both began laughing again.

"Don't tell me you're thinking of lighting it," she teased, stretching out languidly on her back, arching slightly in invitation. "I think it's time we tended to our own flames, don't you?"

Jansen just stripped off his sodden nightshirt and joined her on the carpet.


	2. What's Good For the Goose

_Summary: It isn't easy to get the Queen of Numara to 'properly' relax, at least as far as Jansen's concerned. But Ming often finds herself unable to argue with her husband's particular brand of logic._

**What's Good For the Goose...**

Ming almost pitied her husband. The sun hadn't even fully set, and already he was collapsed on a fainting couch in his bed robes, a glass of wine in his hand and his hair unbound and hanging awkwardly about his face. He wasn't used to early mornings, to long meetings, to the protocols and practices of Numaran royalty. And besides that, he had difficulty conducting himself as a king. He spent as much time with the servants of the palace and the common folk as he did with the nobility, and treated all the same. Which meant he often found himself tugged aside by whomever had some manner of problem, knowing full well that King Jansen would listen honestly and promise to see what he could do. Which of course he always _did_.

And Ming was thankful for it. Through Jansen, news and affairs that needed attention reach her that never would have otherwise. Kakanas had wrought a great deal of wrong in the decades he had taken advantage of her amnesia. There were homeless on the streets, shopkeepers driven out of business, mercenaries and hard men amongst the common city guard…. And Jansen was as upset and bothered by these things as she was. He cared about _people_, and the manner in which he'd thrown himself into making their voices heard touched her deeply.

But it took so much out of him. And in the evening, seeing him like this, so tired and distraught… it did bring something of an ache to her heart. But she couldn't pity him. Not when she had lived this life for centuries. And it had only been a few months, he was still simply making the adjustment.

"So…" Jansen started, when he looked up and sheepishly met her eyes. "How important was that guy I called a…you know?"

"A swaggering donkey who wouldn't know taste if it bit him on the rear?" Ming supplied, cleaning up her husband's language a touch.

"Close enough."

"A representative from a minor barony on the western borders of Uhra." Ming removed her earrings and set them aside. A light evening meal was waiting for her on the dining table, and a glass of chilled fruit juice. "And to be fair, he _was_ rather boorish. And of little consequence. We open our borders and suddenly everyone with a holding or title has to rush in to pay their respects." And hope to return home with some manner of trade agreement or alliance. It was beginning to become as much frustration as flattery.

"Well, you can't blame them," Jansen offered. Ming tensed for just a moment - it was a phrase she never enjoyed hearing from Jansen, though she knew he didn't intend to chastise her. "Numara's been this big, exotic mystery for about as long as it's been around. Nobody knew much of anything about it, except 'never been at war', 'immortal demigod queen' and 'they're rich and artsy'. And you know…it's made up of islands. I mean, when I met you, I actually didn't know your name. I wasn't asking just to be polite. And I know a lot of stuff about a lot of places. And then all of a sudden the mysterious immortal queen's got her hands in Uhra and Ghotza, and then she's getting _married_ to some random guy, Numara's opening its ports up to everybody… they all wanna see if it's really this kind of magic utopia that it seems like to outsiders."

"You make it sound as though Numara's some ancient land from a legend."

"Well…it kind of is?" Jansen sat up and raked a hand through his hair, pulling it back and out of his face. "I mean… alright, you know how you aways go nuts over stories about other places, and adventure and legends from far away and everything? Because for most of your life you didn't know anything about those places or that stuff? Well, the rest of the world pretty much looks at Numara the same way. And once the whole novelty wears off, the noble types'll stop bugging us and we'll just be getting tourist trade. Everybody loves a beach vacation."

Ming had to snort a bit at that. But she supposed Jansen had a point, and one she'd never thought of. So much of her isolation policy existed because of the outside countries, not Numara. It had never occurred to her to think how they appeared to the world. It had come as a shock to her to discover in some far western places, Numara was known as The Unmentionable Islands. Well, those days were over at any rate. And she doubted that traffic to their kingdom would ever be reduced to what Jansen referred to as 'tourist trade'.

"And you know…Numaran art's already the most prized modern art you can get your hands on right now," Jansen added, almost hastily. "Some guy in Saman paid 28,000 gold for one of those crystal sculptures Meia does. I picked one of those up first time I ever came to Numara for a couple of hundred."

"Numara is doing well," Ming agreed.

"But you still sound as tired as I feel. Relax a little, sweetheart. Here, why don't you have a sip, take a load off." He offered his wineglass. Ming only responded to him with a small smile and a pointed look, the only response she ever gave him when he offered a drink. But this time he didn't just shrug and drop the invitation. He met her eyes and continued to hold the drink to her.

"Jansen…" she kindly reminded. "I don't drink."

"Which isn't _entirely_ true. One sip's not gonna knock you out. And it's good stuff! It's Numaran stuff! And I can say with absolute authority that Numaran wine is hands down the best stuff in the world. And you, as queen, really ought to be familiar with all your trade and export…um…qualities, and I mean at least half the vineyards around here have 'queen' in their name somewhere. And wine's really classy, lots of important and classy people discuss wine at…events and…uh…" Watching her husband trail off hopelessly mid-ramble was always a tad endearing. She remained silent, just meeting Jansen's gaze and waiting for him to finish.

"…and you know, I gotta say, I kind of feel like a pathetic wino just drinking by myself every night. And I'm not. Anymore, I mean. Not that I was ever _pathetic_, just a big drinker. And a king can drink, if he wants to, but…. It's weird drinking with the guards, cause they always remember I'm their king and then it gets sort of weird. And I can't just go into a public house 'cause everybody knows I'm their king, and there's always at least a couple of soldiers trailing after me, and… and anyway, who ever made that rule that the Queen of Numara isn't allowed to drink? You're the queen, you make the rules!"

Which was quite true. At least Jansen's last point. She had set down the law that forbade her to drink. And she had had a good reason for it.

"I did," she answered honestly. "I imagine I _have_ drank, centuries upon centuries ago, but I couldn't remember any specific times. As queen, it was simply something I couldn't afford - a potential loss of control." Or even the chance of making a fool of herself. It wasn't easy, founding and commanding the respect and obedience of an entire country. Especially for a woman. Numara hadn't always been the peaceful, opulent pinnacle of art and culture that it was now.

"Yeah, but that's getting drunk. You don't have to get drunk to drink a little bit."

Ming smiled and sat beside her husband on the couch. "Have I ever struck you as a woman who has been willing to take many chances in her life?"

"Oh, I dunno… you took a chance on me." He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Wanna take another one?"

"You're not going to leave me alone until I do, are you?"

"Nope. Besides, it's kinda stupid. If you're not allowed to drink, why am I? I mean, we're supposed to be equal and all of that, so…."

"You're quite right," Ming agreed, as though the thought had just occurred to her. "Why Jansen, I never even thought of it like that! Quite clearly, we have to make a change. Though however will you manage to adjust to the celibacy of spirits?"

"I…whoa, hey, now…I…um…."

Ming laughed over Jansen's stricken protests. Perhaps she was sometimes too cruel in her teasing, but she was so amused by Jansen's hasty and animated reactions.

"You really do make it too easy," she said, softly.

"And I deserve it," Jansen agreed, shaking his head. "But don't ever, ever joke about that again."

"Alright, I apologize." She eyed the wineglass in Jansen's hand, debating it. She supposed he was right, there wasn't any harm in a few sips of wine in the privacy of her own chambers. She wasn't the woman that she used to be, Numara wasn't the country that it used to be. And besides that, it was such a small thing he was asking of her. To share in something he loved. How could she truly deny him, when he went to such lengths to embrace _her_ livelihoods?

"What vintage is this?"

"This is a Varren Gold, from the Whitecliff Winery - family run joint, nice people. It's a first treading, infused with a light herbal honey and aged in…some kind of fancy wood I can't pronounce. It's sweet, not too boozy. Aged twelve years, which I'm told is optimum for this particular vintage. So…what do say?"

"A sip," she agreed, reaching for the glass. She lifted it to her lips and drank, just swallow. The wine hit her tongue, a sudden burst of flavors that was nothing at all like the mead she had drunk in Tosca. Yes, it was sweet. She could taste the honey. There was also a sour under taste and notes she couldn't recognize. It was a very _strong_ taste. As well as aftertaste.

"See! Nothing terrible happened." Jansen was watching her curiously, but happily. Ming pursed her lips and frowned slightly, the taste of the wine seeming nearly overpowering even after it was gone. "Look at that, you can drink wine!"

"I suppose I can," Ming agreed. She certainly didn't feel as she had in Tosca. Nothing was spinning, nothing was blurring, she didn't feel as though she were about to fall. "But I don't think I will," she added, passing the glass back to Jansen.

"Why not? What's wrong?"

"I don't think I like wine."

"…You're kidding me."

"Not at all. And if this is truly one of the best wines in the world…" Gods, she didn't want to imagine what _bad_ wine tasted like! "It leaves a terrible aftertaste."

"What? You're crazy! That is…this is pure liquid gold! This is delicious! With…lingering golden hued notes of…goodness!"

"If you like wine."

"Who doesn't like wine?" Jansen threw up his hands in exasperation. "Other than you, I guess."

"Just consider it a failed experiment, my love. Join me for dinner?"

"Dinner we can agree on." He stood and offered her a hand. "And hey…you tried it. Kinda can't believe I talked you into it. Again."

"You can be very persuasive." Ming kissed him softly when she stood, then pulled back and wrinkled her nose. "No, I really don't care for the taste that leaves at all."

"Oh, cute." Jansen chuckled and turned away with exaggerated mock-pain. "What's a guy to do? Trapped between his love of his wife, and his love of his wine…" He pulled out a chair for her and bowed with a flourish, before glancing up with a gleam in his eye.

"Hey, what do think about champagne…?"


	3. The Emotional Maladies of Ming

_Summary: No one is immune to jealous thoughts or spiteful anger, and the queen of Numara was no exception. That didn't stop her from wishing she was, especially when those thoughts involved her husband._

_Author's Note: This one isn't as funny as the first two, be warned!_

**The Emotional Maladies of Ming**

It was a terrible habit he had, wandering off for great swaths of time and leaving no word as to where he was or what he was doing. Ming supposed she should be used to it - _knew_ she should be used to it - but that didn't seem to make any difference. On those days where she had no idea where her husband was or what he was up to, a sick sort of worry came upon her.

He always wandered back home, fine and unconcerned as he usual was. Either he had imbibed a bit more than he normally did these days and had slept off a stupor on the beach, he'd gotten himself invited to some sort of gathering, or he'd simply discovered a new tangle of streets and shops and lost himself wandering for miles in some far flung patch of Numara. It wasn't as though he were off baiting monsters or spelunking in forbidden caverns!

But the fear persisted, despite logic's protests. Fear that in those times they were apart, in those times where even Jansen's trio of attendants couldn't tell Ming with any great certainty where he was, that something horrible had happened. She knew it was madness. The gnawing, nagging doubt as to where Jansen was and what he was doing. It only grew worse when discreetly dispatched guards or couriers were dispatched only to return with apologetic, empty handed gestures.

Sometimes, the fear would begin to sharpen and redden, edging towards anger. Because he _was_ most likely simply off drinking with someone, letting the time slip by and enjoying himself while she waited, worried and alone and without knowing for sure. He hadn't even the simple courtesy to send a messenger! And he _knew_ how she worried. It wasn't as though she didn't tell him, every time it happened. He didn't spare a thought to it (so her increasingly irritated mind would inform her). And besides that… what right did he have, to leave her alone in the first place? What right did he have to go galavanting off with whomever it was this time, leaving her to the long and difficult duties of tending to Numara, and then an empty bedroom at day's end?

She hated those feelings worse than the fear. What right did he have? Every right in the world, and she knew that. She was no tyrannical harpy, insistent he throw away any aspect of his life that didn't include her. She wanted him to live life to the fullest, to do whatever he needed to remain happy. It was only an odd, sick sort of jealousy that seized her from time to time. Not the jealousy of a wife fearing her husband's unfaithfulness - that thought never once entered her mind - but simple jealousy that he was with someone other than her, enjoying himself with someone other than her.

It was one of the few differences between them that Ming felt was somewhat impossible to bridge. She had been alone for a longer time than Jansen could even conceive of. The true weight and breadth of a thousand years was simply something a mortal was unable to comprehend. The idea of it, of course, but the reality? Only one who had lived it could really understand. And for a thousand years - more or less - she had taken great pains to eschew any personal or intimate relationships. And then came Jansen, and it was as though floodgates had been opened. She loved him so much it hurt, and that sort of love could easily turn jealous and possessive. It didn't help that despite establishing friendships and taking pains to be more personally involved, she didn't really have anyone _but_ Jansen. Kaim and Sarah had taken the children back to the northern cape, and it wasn't an easy thing to come forth from isolation.

And of course, there was the simple fact that she had never been in this position before. She had only books and second-hand stories to give her an idea of what married life was truly like. And added to that was the mixed blessing of her and Jansen's courtship. They had never been apart for more than a handful of hours, really. She had grown used to having him there for her at all times.

In her most bitter and irrational moments, the thought came that he simply didn't love her as much as she loved him. The shame she felt following that thought made her feel physically ill. What a terrible thing to think, even in anger! But spiteful thoughts were treacherous things, and always found some way of making themselves known. And she couldn't claim she was a saint, despite what her people might call her. She was a woman, and while she rarely gave voice or visage to the darker thoughts that passed through her mind, they were there.

At least those times when her fear gave way to anger were few and far between. And then, of course, when she had worn herself out pacing the length of their bedroom - stopping occasionally to watch intently and sadly hopefully out the window - Jansen would return. And no matter what emotions had Ming tightly in their grip, they melted away the moment she saw his face, heard his voice. It was as though they were phantom things, spirits of the mind rather than of the flesh, and they fled back to the strange netherworld from whence they came when confronted.

What was left was only a memory of foolishness.

But the memory _did_ remain. And so Ming would stand by the window, smiling softly at her husband, and choosing her words carefully. She knew well how easy it was to misspeak, to give him the impression of anger or something else that was not there. Or worse, have him feel she was blaming him or resenting his extroverted life. He would think she wanted him to change, and that was the last thing she wanted. Yes, it frustrated her when he was out of reach, but if he didn't seize life the way he did he wouldn't be the man that she loved. That was far more important that what amounted to a minor inconvenience. But she still felt the need to say _something_.

"I couldn't reach you," she would say, striving to be casual. But the slight hesitance in her tone said it all. Jansen's face fell and he scrubbed the back of his neck and cast his eyes downwards like a sheepish schoolboy.

"Geeze, I'm sorry…I was gonna send a message, but this guy's cart had tipped over and then we ended up going and hitting a public house, and…. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I mean, I did bring a messenger, but a friend of mine needed to get in touch with his girlfriend…. And you know I'm just messing around in the city somewhere…."

"And you know how I worry." She couldn't help the words, though there was no malice in them. It was a gentle reminder, as it always had and always would be. And really, beneath all the mad emotions that came when she was alone, that was all she wanted. Just for him to remember, at least occasionally, to give her some notice or general idea as to where he was or how long he'd be gone.

"I know, I know…man, this is one big orobourous of suck, isn't it?"

Ming had to laugh. Not only at the sentiment, but at hearing it come from Jansen's lips. She covered her mouth and shook her head and soon Jansen was nervously joining her. Now, she could hardly even remember why she had felt so upset. She never could, afterwards. It was a cycle, in a way, but it was theirs. It was borne of who they were and how they lived, and it wasn't something that was likely to change. And all in all, it wasn't that terrible a frustration to bear.

"No," she finally said. She crossed the room and put her hands on his shoulders, looking up into his still-apologetic eyes. "It's just…us."


End file.
